Back To School
by AshesOnTheWind
Summary: As we all know, the youth of today are a little...well, weird. And as nations, it is important that our favourite Hetalia characters keep up to date with their younger citizens. The best way to do that? Send them back to school.
1. Prologue: Preparations

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia etc. Also, America's boss isn't intended to be any American president in particular, and it's not intended to cause any offence either._

* * *

Principal Mary Harvey looked down at the list in front of her and frowned. She blinked and read it again. Her frown deepened. She had seen some strange things in her time, but this took the biscuit, the jar, and the cup of tea. Of course, in the grander scheme of things the 'surprise' in question would take very little, but Mary Harvey was not a grand person. 26 new students at least, almost all of them foreign, all of them arriving at the same time – that was her definition of strange. It was weird, that's what it was. Downright weird.

"Andrew!" she called. Her secretary popped up, a small ferrety man. He had the astonishing ability to make her want to take a bath every time she saw him; the man was practically swimming in sweat.

"Y-yes, M-Ms Harvey?"

"Oh for God's sake, Andrew, try and pronounce a sentence without stuttering, _please_."

"S...I mean sorry, Ms H-Harvey."

Ms Harvey sighed. Sometimes she just didn't know why she bothered.

"Are you sure this is real? And not last year's leavers' prank? They never were a particularly bright bunch. I'm reliably informed that half of them are currently very privileged to be working as cashiers in their nearest supermarket."

"N-no, Ms Harvey. I-I believe that this-that this is real."

"I thought as much," Ms Harvey replied mournfully. It wasn't that she was particularly upset that this current influx of foreigners had chosen this school as where they would continue their education. She just didn't see why _she_ had to be the one to deal with them.

* * *

America's boss looked around at the confused nations in front of him and grinned.

"Well," he said, "You might all be wondering why I brought you all here, am I right?"

Affirmative nods rippled around the room, and small whispers broke out amongst the ranks.

"Well! It has come to our attention that your general populations have – ahem – moved on, while you lot had sort of stayed the same, huh?"

"Do you have to finish every sentence with a question?" England asked, "Only it makes you sound extraordinarily stupid."

"Sure thing dude! Well, we've thought of a way to fix that; we're sending you guys back to school!"

A room full of stunned silence was not the reaction he had expected.

"Uhh," America began, "This sounds great and all, but dude...none of us have actually been to school before..."

"Come on, it'll be fun! There's no need to be so gloomy about the whole thing, it's only a year or so!"

Several stunned faces turned to look at him.

"And none of us look like we could be in school anyway," France added.

"I do!" A small voice chirped.

"Hang on! What the bloody hell is Sealand doing here?"

"Woah, England, cool it dude!" America's boss grinned, "He's here because...uh, I think it would do him good to see how people his age actually interact and hopefully it'll make him more mature."

England folded his arms and glared.

"Anyway, about the age thing. I have spoken to England, and he tells me that he knows a spell or something that will make you all look younger. Some of you are borderline able to attend a normal school, but your age will be reduced too in order to prevent...friction between countries who until previously were different ages. You'll still be, like, yourselves though, and it'll also take away any extra attributes you may have, such as strength or magic. There should be a folder with your human identities in front of you."

America's boss looked down at the one in front of him; America's. They were ominously thick, and full of information that might be necessary to blend in amongst a younger population.

_**Human Name: **__Alfred F. Jones_

_**Human Age: **__16_

_**Family: **__One parent – Steve Jones – living in New York, America. One brother – Matthew Williams (Canada) 16 also – living in Canada. Mother – Maria Williams – lives in Canada with 'Matthew'. _

_**Background information: **__You grew up in New York, America, with your father. Your parents divorced a year after your birth; you lived with your father while your brother went to live with your mother in Canada. You have not moved in this time, and the only family you are in contact with are those previously mentioned – if a teacher needs to speak to your parents they will be able to phone people who are qualified to pretend to be Steve Jones and Maria Williams, but face-to-face meetings are out of the question. You will board at the school for the duration of this operation. Under no circumstances will you speak of your history as a country except in the context of a history lesson or similar. The only history you will speak of is your human history, a more detailed version of which can be found later on in this package. Under no circumstances are you to declare yourself a hero, or to utilise any strength that you may retain after the effects of the transformation. Do not contradict yourself._

"Hey!" Romano yelled, "If this takes away magic then England can't turn us back, right? What'll happen then?"

"The spell has been specifically designed to last for only a short amount of time," England reassured him in a bored voice, "Nothing can possibly go wrong."

"Forgive me, _mon ami, _if I do not share your enthusiasm," France sniffed. Minor scuffles broke out in random places at the table, and America's boss began to wonder whether or not this was a good idea.

"Hey! People, listen up! You'll have free reign as your human identities; whatever clubs you want to join, subjects you want to take, friends you want to make, you can. But you mustn't go against anything written in the folders you've been given, and you must not do anything to compromise the mission. The school is on neutral ground; it is a very well-respected educational institution. It is co-educational, and you will board there. I don't know much else about it, and I can't tell you where it is. This is non-negotiable. Any questions?"

Every hand in the room shot up.

"Right. Well, let's get started then!"

* * *

_Translations:_

_Mon ami; My Friend_

_Ah, exposition. This should be the last of it and it is necessary, I'm afraid. This school won't be a normal American High School; I don't know enough about them for that. It'll just be kind of random and I'll change rules randomly every so often to facilitate stuff I want to do. _


	2. Chapter One: Roommates

Prussia stomped down the hallways of this boring, mundane, oppressive excuse of a school, glowering at anyone and anything in his way. This whole shenanigan was the very definition of what he called _not awesome. _A human school, with humans and...human things. It wasn't that Prussia had anything in particular against humans – quite the opposite; ever since he had technically speaking ceased to be an actual country, he'd found he had rather a lot in common with them – but the whole humiliation of being forced to act like them just...it stung, it really did. And the fact that he looked seventeen was the opposite of awesome.

He continued on his way, pausing only to wonder vaguely where exactly he was meant to be going. Prussia looked down at the piece of paper in front of him. _Gilbert Beilschmidt, room 217. _It wasn't a bad name, all things considered. At least Gilbert sounded like Gilbird. The tiny yellow bird was fluttering at his shoulder, cheeping pleasantly every time it saw somebody new. They had tried – tried being the key word there – to take it off him when he'd first arrived, and it was now the subject of rather a lot of curious stares.

_Dormitory wing, second floor, look at the numbers. _Prussia went over the words that the weird 'secretary' guy had said. This school was insanely and unawesomely big, and Prussia could already feel himself getting lost. No doubt Germany already had a map of the school complete with in-depth map key, as well as notes on every room and every possible reason he could ever have for being there, but Prussia possessed no such organisational skills. Instead he survived off street smarts and cutting-edge instinct.

As he walked into yet another dark and unused classroom, he reflected that maybe the edge had become a little blunt over the past few years. That meant it was time to turn to the street smarts. Which, at this point, dictated that: _If you are ever lost as fuck, take this opportunity to tell yourself that you are, despite this current setback, awesome. However, due to the lack of awesome in your surroundings, at this moment in time it might be for the best if you asked somebody to tell you where the fuck you are, so that in future you don't have to look so ridiculous._

Prussia sighed. His street smarts were really letting him down. He headed out of the – tenth, was it? – classroom that he had accidentally wandered into and down the corridor. There was a figure at the end; as Prussia neared it the shape of a tall girl with blonde hair emerged.

"Hey!" Prussia grinned, "I'm awesome, as you probably know, but I'm also lost. D'you know where I can find, uhh...dorm room 217?"

The girl looked at him, a weird expression on her face. Was that...that couldn't be pity! He was awesome Prussia, once a great and powerful force in Europe, feared and respected even by that asshole Russia! Sure, he wasn't anymore, but that still didn't make him some weird little dork who was too stupid to find his way around the school. He was...he was awesome!

The girl sighed, "You're in the wrong end of the school, dumbass. See that door at the end of the corridor? Turn left and then keep walking until you meet a load of people and then go down two floors and look at the numbers on the doors."

Prussia had no idea what to say in these circumstances.

"Oh, right...uh, thanks? I'm awesome!"

And then he followed the girl's directions, completely oblivious to the weird look his back was receiving. The journey to his room took, in the end, fifteen minutes, courtesy of some enticing locked doors that turned out to be, well, locked. It was entirely _unawesome. _He'd heard somewhere – probably from England – that that wasn't technically a word, but Prussia refused to believe that. It was logical that if such a wonderful thing as awesome existed, then so would something as decidedly awful as unawesome. The laws of the universe dictated such a thing. And if they didn't, Prussia was going to make damn well sure that, once he was finished with them, they did.

By the time he reached what he supposed was his room, he was quite ready to give up all hope. Oh, the rooms were nice enough, though from what Germany had told him they were all the same. His had a sort of dark blue colour scheme, with rich wooden furniture. Everything was done in twos, except for the bathroom; two wardrobes, two bookshelves, two desks. One bunk-bed. Damn. It wasn't so much the prospect of a roommate that alarmed him, more the fact that said roommate would inevitably end up being _human. _It was this assumption that made the voice that came from the bed all the more surprising.

"Prussia, _mi amigo_! It looks like we are roommates, _sí_?"

Spain's eyes glittered as he grinned at Prussia from across the room. Prussia felt himself smile back, despite how awful the day had been already. Spain. It was Spain. One of his closest friends, someone he didn't mind chatting to – despite the Spaniard's infuriating obliviousness to _everything _– and above all, a country. Prussia laughed.

"Kessesse, looks like this won't be so bad, huh?"

Spain frowned, "I don't know Prussia. The people here seem nice enough, but I don't like having to do this school thing. Couldn't we pretend to be teachers?"

"I know, it's positively unawesome! But hey, at least we're roommates! That's got to be something, right?"

"_Sí! _I took the top bunk, by the way."

"What? No fair! I wasn't there to choose!"

"How isn't it fair? I got there first, I get the top bed."

Prussia considered wrestling Spain for it, safe in the knowledge that despite Spain's technically superior status as an actual country, Prussia would win, but then realised that he wasn't that bothered. They were only beds, after all. He shrugged and instead of unpacking settled for chucking all his clothes into the wardrobe. Germany would no doubt end up visiting him, and then the mess would clean itself up. To be precise, _Germany _would clean the mess up, but that was irrelevant.

"So, _mi amigo, _did you get your, what's the word...ah, timetable yet?"

"Yeah. These humans are so weird, I had no idea."

"Ah, me neither," Spain said sadly, "So many things to learn, am I right?"

"Too true. And now we have to learn them too! I have first...PE? What does that even mean?"

"Ah! It says here that it stands foorrr..." Spain trailed off, dragging out his last word, "Physical Education."

"So that Gym crap America's always going on about?"

"I guess so. I have it too! I suppose that means we are in the same class?"

"I don't know, didn't that principal woman say something about us being mixed and never mind about our ages?"

"Ha! That is good because I am older than you, _sí?" _

Prussia glared. Possibly the least awesome thing about all this was the galling fact that America's boss – or England, he didn't know which – had decided that the spell used to make them all look younger would make Prussia younger than Spain. The general outward appearance didn't have much difference, but their ages had been put down as one year apart. He had a suspicion that it had been America's boss; Prussia definitely didn't remember England looking happy when he ended up a year younger than France.

"What time does class start?" Spain was lying back on his bunk, eating a tomato. Prussia didn't even want to begin to guess where it had come from.

"What? Oh, uhh...well, they said we didn't have class today because it was the first day back, didn't they?"

"Oh, _sí. _No PE then, I guess."

"Nope. What are we even supposed to do here?"

Spain sighed, "I have no idea, _mi amigo_, no idea at all."

Prussia sat down on his own bunk, "It sucks, doesn't it? I don't see why we can't just walk out of here."

"Well I don't think I know where 'here' is, I'm afraid."

"Oh yeah. Well we're countries! Or at least you are; why can't we just find our bosses? Or call them or something and tell them that we don't want to do this?"

"Well, I think they said that none of our bosses would pick up if we called. Also, we look seventeen and eighteen, _mi amigo. _I don't know whether we can just stroll around and ask to speak to the leaders of our people with our current appearances."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, I'm bored already. Let's go and find France."

"_Sí, _good idea. Want a tomato?"

Prussia shrugged, "Sure."

* * *

_Translations:_

_Mi amigo; My friend_

_Sí; Yes_

_Oh, BTT how I love you. I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Reviews are much appreciated, but not required. If there is a particular character you want to see then just ask and I will do my best. OCs will be minimal as I know that in a story I am not that fond of them unless they're very good, but they will have to exist as this is a school and it can't only be the nations in it. Updates will come soon. _


	3. Chapter Two: Dinner

_**Note: **As of 4/1/15, Liechtenstein's human name has been changed to Erika. Iggy, Doitsu and Su-san will not be used, but nicknames like Liet, Sve and Norge will because language-wise they make sense (I will explain this more if asked)._

* * *

Dinner was a strange affair. Theoretically speaking, the nations were mingling with the rest of the students, but in practice there was a clear divide between the two groups. Not all of them had been as lucky as Prussia in securing a fellow country as a roommate, and so word had soon spread of the 'weird new students'. The whispers and stares in the canteen were following each of them around like a hawk following prey. The general feeling in the room seemed to suggest that that analogy might turn out to be quite apt. Even the teachers were hopping on the bandwagon, despite how much they pretended to be above it all.

The nations were not entirely oblivious to the stares they were getting either. The looks in question were not malicious, as such, but there was an ocean of curiosity behind each one. France just winked and blew kisses, America waved and England returned each one with a roll of his eyes or a glare of his own. At the table occupied by Romano, the Axis Powers and Greece, Italy shrunk a little closer to Germany. Romano's reaction was enough to make anyone who so much as looked at his little brother wish they had never existed. Gradually, however, the stares decreased and the canteen began to hum with friendly chatter. Friendly being used in the 'this isn't really friendly conversation but I'd prefer to pretend we're not arguing' sense.

"I don't see what the big attraction is," England grumbled, "As far as they know, we're just new students."

France shrugged, "Maybe it's your eyebrows, _mon ami. _I doubt they have seen such a pair as, ah, impressive as yours before."

England threw a potato at him, "Shut it, frog. I'm trying to be serious.

"Aw, there's no need to be serious, England!" America said.

"You make it sound like being serious is a bad thing. And don't call me that."

"It's not a bad thing, it's just...boring! You should have way more fun anyway and now we're like kids so you don't even have an excuse."

"_You're _a kid. I am not."

"I believe that I am the only legal adult here," France interjected. England threw another potato at him.

"Shut up, frog, just because America's boss is an idiot and messed up the instructions doesn't mean you have any right to lord it over anyone."

"Ah, _mon cher Angleterre, _I believe you would be the expert in lording it over people."

"And what exactly are you trying to insinuate, Fra-_Francis_?"

"Merely that your obsession with-"

They were interrupted as two more plates were banged down on the table and Prussia and Spain slid in onto the bench next to England and France.

"Kesese, are we fighting? Naughty naughty, don't we know that there are children present?" Prussia smirked. A potato went flying in his direction.

"And who would be the technical child in all this, _Prusse_?"

"Oh shut up Franc-_is_, we all know you're the most immature one at this table."

"Speak for yourself," England muttered.

"Hey! I am awesome!"

"The fact that you wrongly believe yourself to be awesome is not a valid argument for your non-existent maturity!"

"Yeah...that made no sense, so I'm going to ignore you."

"It did make sense, the only reason you're ignoring it is because it reflects badly on you."

"Are you implying that I am not awesome?"

"Yes, I think that is probably the point of this entire conversation."

"Kesese, I'm awesome and if you never understand that then your loss. Haters gonna hate and all that."

The entire table stared at Prussia with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"What?" He said through a mouthful of stew, "I'm trying to fit in! Getting to know our younger citizens and all that."

Spain shrugged and continued talking to America about the merits of tomatoes in hamburgers and the effects on the personal integrity of the tomato industry. France sighed.

"I fear that this school will not be good for my digestive system. The food here is too bland and stodgy."

England smirked, "All that fancy cuisine isn't doing you much good now, is it?"

"At least I have not had to survive on this slop for years." France retorted, "It's a wonder you have any taste left at all."

"Well according to you I lost that years ago."

"You never had any to lose, _mon ami_."

"DO NOT INSULT MY COOKING AT LEAST I DO NOT MAKE A MEAL OUT OF GARDEN ANIMALS AND AMPHIBIANS!"

"But snails are so delicious!"

England shook his head, "And you say I have no taste."

"But you make scones! How can those charred bits of rock _ever _taste good?"

"Scones aren't made from rock, they're made from flour and other foodstuffs. Just because I burned them once, really."

"Ooh, are we talking about England's pastry-thingies?" America butted in, an insane grin on his face.

"They're not pastries," England sighed, "They're _scones_."

America shrugged, "Same difference, really."

"How dare you, Ame_-_Alfred! Pastries are far more delicious than any of that rubbish!"

"Don't call my scones rubbish!"

Spain and Prussia shook their heads; the whole thing was inevitable. Put England and France on opposite platforms in a crowded train station and they would still have found a way to try and push the other onto the tracks. Add in America and he would have managed to find some way to piss one of the others off within the space of a minute. It was the way the universe went, and sometimes there was just no arguing with the way the universe went. Except when it said that unawesome wasn't a word. Then it was just plain wrong.

"I think scones are good, eh," Canada said. No one heard him.

Over at the Axis Powers table, things weren't going much better. Italy had preferred to go to Germany than Romano to cry about how there wasn't any pasta and Romano was not taking it well. He had steadily ploughed through Germany's strange obsession with potatoes, insulted the other nation's cars, gone on a rant about 'Germans thinking they own all of Europe just because they have a good economy' and was now onto Germany's friendship with Italy Veneziano.

"-and you can stop letting my brother hang around you, you potato bastard! He doesn't need you!"

"Ve! But Romano, I like Germany!"

"Shut up Veneziano, this isn't about you!"

"But you said my name!"

"Yeah and then I also said shut up, didn't I?"

Italy looked like he was about to cry, "Ve, Romano, why are so mean?"

"I'm not mean! I'm looking out for you, Veneziano."

"But I don't need you to! Ve, I like being around Germany."

"Just...shut up, Veneziano, okay? Hey, potato bastard! I'm still talking to you!"

Germany sighed, "I realise that, which is why I started to leave. Also, we should start using our proper names for this endeavour. You should call me Ludwig and I will call you Feliciano and Lovino."

Romano glowered, "Lovino's a stupid name."

"Ve, Romano, I think it's pretty! What about my name, Germany, I mean Ludwig? I like it!"

"Yes, I think it's good," said Germany in a voice that suggested he had had variants of this conversation many times before.

Meanwhile, Greece and Japan were talking about cats.

"I like cats."

"That is very interesting, Greece."

* * *

"Hey, Liech...wait, your name's Erika right? What class do you have tomorrow? I have Maths! Hah, I'm so going to get a good mark and then shove it into Jerk England's face!"

As the two youngest nations, Sealand and Liechtenstein were sitting at a small table in the corner, Switzerland beside them. His gun had been taken away from him, but the glare on his face was just as successful in intimidating anyone who might think of asking if one of the seats was free.

"I think I have Maths too, Peter. What about you, brother?"

"Woah, you remembered my name, that's so cool!" Sealand was practically screaming now, and Switzerland decided to put his glare to good use. Sealand shut up almost immediately.

"I think I have History, Erika. Many of the older nations do."

"Brother!" Liechstenstein gasped, "You're not supposed to mention the nations! But I hope you enjoy history."

"Thank you Erika. I hope you enjoy Maths."

"I hope I do too!" Sealand yelled.

"Your name is Peter, not Erika. I was not talking to you."

Over at a large table in the middle of the room, everyone was having fun except Russia. Unable to intimidate any of the Baltics, even tiny shaking Latvia, into talking to him, he was sulking at the end. The evil vibes emanating off him were enough to convince any innocent students to take a different route to get to wherever they were sitting. Even Poland was slightly perturbed, but in general he had other things to worry about.

"The uniform is, like, so awful! Don't you agree, Liet?"

"Sure, Poland."

"Like, it's blue and grey. Blue. And Grey. And they're both totally awful shades; what's wrong with pink anyway? I don't see why I have to wear this, it's, like, totally rude. Why can't we just wear what we want?"

"Because those are the rules, Poland."

"The rules suck, like, really suck."

"I agree!" Finland chimed in, "I can't set up Christmas decorations until December!"

"Wh't's wr'ng w'th th't?" Sweden asked.

"Because it's Christmas, Sve!"

"I th'ght Chr'stm's b'g'n 'n D'cemb'r."

"It does! But that's when it begins, you have to set up way earlier! I need to be ready!"

"R'ght."

"Yeah, Finland's, like, totally right," Poland agreed, munching on a potato, "The rules are so, like, oppressive. We're nations, we shouldn't be bowing to these rules!"

"Uh, Poland, I don't think we're meant to be mentioning that we're nations..." Lithuania muttered.

"Oh, relax, Liet, it's totally cool, no one will realise!" Noticing Lithuania's worried expression, he relented, "Oh, fine. I'll call you Toris and you can call me Feliks, okay?"

Lithuania smiled.

"That means I need to call you Berwald, right Sve?"

"Y's. 'nd I n'd to c'll y'u T'no."

"Right. I'm Tino and you're Berwald." Finland smiled happily, "That's cool!"

The conversation dragged on, Russia's expression becoming more murderous by the minute. Latvia started shaking even more, but nobody noticed because it was already so bad. By the time the end of dinner rolled around, all the nations were surprisingly tired, and, perhaps in an even stranger twist, markedly less annoyed about the whole venture. Except England. Because England was grumpy about everything.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Mon ami; My friend_

_Mon cher; My dear_

_Angleterre; England_

_Prusse; Prussia_

_Sorry I couldn't get this up earlier, I'd have posted it about two hours ago but my mum had to be all like 'no come socialise' and 'no come eat dinner' so apologies for the wait. But now I'm watching the Late Late Toy Show so it's all okay._


	4. Chapter Three: History

_**Warning: **Casual references of some possibly sensitive historical topics. The opinions stated are not mine; this is a Hetalia fanfiction, and so I feel it wouldn't be true to the spirit of the show if there was not at least one slightly dodgy history joke. _

* * *

Mr. Kennedy was an old teacher. He had been in the teaching business a long time, and was beginning to get a little bit bored of the whole thing. This would be his last year, he had decided. One year in an obscure little boarding school with a small enough amount of pupils and not really that much to do. Nice enough for one last hurrah before his retirement. The principal had warned him about the unexpected influx of new students, but he wasn't worried. Mr Kennedy had had to deal with a lot in his years of teaching and compared to that a couple of angry foreigners were nothing.

He watched as they filed in, all looking remarkably miffed about something. A ridiculous amount of them were blonde. He noticed how they all had their little groups; the short dark-haired boy, the tall blonde and the stupidly happy one, or the three blondes – Eyebrows, Glasses and Smirk. Then there was the grumpy blonde boy who didn't seem to like anybody. Mr Kennedy waited until they were all sitting down and then began to speak.

"Right, good morning class! As it is your first day and I want to get to know you all, I thought we'd start with a quick quiz. I'll ask you a question and the first hand up gets to answer, all right?"

"You want our hands to answer questions?" Eyebrows asked, raising one afore-mentioned massive eyebrow.

Mr Kennedy elected not to dignify that with an answer, "First question: which country was responsible for the start of the Second World War?"

Several hands shot up immediately. Mr Kennedy pointed to the tall blonde boy at the front.

"Name please?"

"Uh, Ludwig...Beilschmidt."

"Right, Mr Beilschmidt, the answer is?"

"France."

Smirk stood up, "How dare you? It was totally your...uh, Germany's fault!"

"Mr Beilschmidt, why do you say France?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Eyebrows asked, "Because France is a total wanker."

"Excuse me, _Arthur, _but I believe your country is the wanker here!"

"Gentlemen!" Mr Kennedy shouted, feeling that he was getting to know these students rather more than he'd like, "Language!"

He was completely ignored.

"Oh yes, I'm the wanker? You're just upset because you – _your country _had most of the fighting. It's not my fault you're part of the mainland!"

"Well at least I'm part of the mainland and not the black sheep of Europe!"

"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!"

Mr Kennedy blinked in surprise – were Smirk and Eyebrows really referring to themselves as France and England? He looked down at the register and discovered that, as he was expecting, they were not countries, merely ordinary students called Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland. It had to be some sort of joke between the two boys.

A boy with silver hair and strange red eyes had now joined in the fight.

"Hey, if you lot hadn't been totally unawesome and separated me and West – oh wait, it's Ludwig, right? Anyway, if you lot hadn't separated us then we would have kicked your asses!"

"Unawesome isn't a word, you idiot," Eyebrows snapped, "And please, do tell us where we'd be. Under the rule of some dictator or in the middle of a civil war or some such ridiculousness."

"You can't blame an entire country for Hitler! That's like blaming you for Cromwell!"

"How do you even know who Cromwell is? Besides, that was during a civil war so I obviously wasn't-"

"Oh yeah? World War Two came on the back of some pretty ridiculous demands from you guys, you know; do you know how tiring it is making cuckoo clocks every single day?"

"At least it was only cuckoo clocks, and besides, the Great War was your fault!"

"It was not! Austria and Hungary were involved too!"

A bespectacled young man with a ridiculous strand of hair sticking up out of his head and a girl with flowers in her hair looked up.

"Hey!" the girl yelled, "Don't bring us into this you narcissistic self-centred bastard!"

"Say that to my face, frying pan bitch!"

"I can do a lot more to your face than that!"

Mr Kennedy sighed and watched in despair as his class settled into a comfortable state of complete and utter mayhem. He got the feeling that, seeing as most of his students seemed to know each other, this was normal for them. The students who weren't involved all watched in complete wonderment as the flower-haired girl began chasing the red-eyed boy around the room with a frying pan. Smirk and Eyebrows – Francis and Arthur, Mr Kennedy reminded himself, derogatory nicknames never really encouraged objectivity – were currently engaged in an enthusiastic poke war.

"ELIZAVETA!" the dark-haired boy yelled, "GILBERT! I'M SURE THERE ARE OTHER WAYS OF RESOLVING THIS! WE DON'T NEED TO RESORT TO-"

He gave up as Elizaveta managed to give Gilbert a thump on the head with her pan. There was a resounding _thwack _and he crumpled to the floor, unmoving. Arthur and Francis were currently entangled in a mess that looked like it had started with them both trying to put the other in a headlock at the same time and now looked like some sort of contortionist double act. Mr Kennedy's mouth opened and closed in wordless astonishment. There was a student unconscious in his class. He...he had never had to deal with that before. This was unprecedented. He would definitely being suing the school.

Mr Kennedy could only watch in complete befuddlement as Elizaveta began laughing, waving her frying pan around like it was some sort of flag. Gilbert's bird could only cheep forlornly as she picked it up and started tickling its face. The dark-haired boy sighed and rolled his eyes, before returning to something that looked like sheet music. By this point Arthur and Francis were both rolling around on the floor, while Glasses – a glance at the register (they had very helpfully provided pictures) identified him as Alfred – laughed and took pictures. Mr Kennedy had a sneaking suspicion that phones were not allowed during class, but by this point he was too far gone to care.

He reached for the standard telephone all classrooms were equipped with and dialled in the number he had been told to call only in an emergency. He had a feeling that this situation called for reinforcements.

* * *

Hungary, Prussia, England, France, America and Austria sat in sullen silence as an immensely thin-faced woman glared down her extraordinarily thin nose at them.

"And just _what _do you think all that was about?"

Hey lady, relax, it was just a fight, that's all," Prussia said.

She raised an eyebrow, "Just a fight, was that it? You were knocked out with a frying pan! I don't even want to know where it came from!"

"I brought it with me," Hungary informed her, "I have more at home."

"Well, they had better stay at home then! I don't know what you think gives you anywhere near the right to start attacking people with frying pans, Miss Héderváry."

"Well it was nothing that bad, it was just Pru – I mean Gilbert."

"Oh, and I suppose you hit Mr Beilschmidt with frying pans every day, do you?"

Hungary shrugged, "Nope, only when he's trying to annoy me. He's not even a – not even _from_ a real country anyway. And why is Roderich here anyway, he didn't do anything."

"Mr Edelstein is here because I am hoping he will be able to shed some light on what _exactly _happened here. I cannot even _begin _to explain just how angry I am about all of this. _One _day. You have been here all of _one _day, and already I have fights breaking out in a History classroom!"

England raised an eyebrow, "I believe that technically speaking we've been here for two days."

The thin-faced woman – was her name Ms Harvey? She was the principal or something – turned to him, "That is quite enough from you, Mr Kirkland! I haven't forgotten you, or Mr Bonnefoy, not after your fisticuffs earlier."

"Hey!" a loud voice cut through the frosty atmosphere, "What about me? You haven't mentioned why I'm here yet!"

"Your offence is not as serious I suppose, Mr Jones, merely using a phone in class. Though I do not understand why you feel the need to take pictures of two of your friends fighting; I feel it reveals more about your attitude than I would like to know!"

"What...what's wrong with my attitude? I'm the hero!"

"And we are definitely not friends!" England interrupted, "How dare you suggest such a thing, me and _him_-"

"Hero you most certainly are not, Mr Jones; a real hero would have stopped that fight!"

"But it's just Eng – just Arthur and Francis, I mean, it happens all the time!"

"Oh, does it?" Ms Harvey raised an eyebrow, "How interesting."

"_Oui, Angleterre," _France whispered, "Very..._interesting_."

"Oh shut up you perverted frog."

Ms Harvey turned her attention back to the assembled students, "Mr Edelstein, you may go; I think I have enough information without any need for you," Austria left the room hurriedly, not envying the remaining nations, "Well! It is clear that all of you in this room have some very serious issues with each other; you intentionally start fights, you wrestle on the floor of a classroom with no thoughts for your fellow students, you knock your classmates out with frying pans and even have the gall to take pictures of the entire thing!"

She paused for breath, clearly quite distressed, "Never; I repeat, _never, _has anything of this sort happened in this school. I am referring each one of you to the guidance counsellor for private – or in some cases, group – sessions, and each one of you will be receiving detention. This is never to happen again, do you understand me?"

The nations gawped at her in complete and utter shock; it was almost impossible that a human, of all people, had had the nerve to speak to them like that! It...It was unheard of! Positively apocalyptic in proportion! Reality took a while to sink in; this woman had no idea who they were. As far as she knew, she was looking at five trouble-making students, and not four great and powerful nations and one awesome ex-nation. Each face bore a look of horror similar to the one next to it; no more elevated status. No more special perks. No more bragging about their victories, or hitting people with frying pans. And, in possibly the most awful consequence of all, no more insulting each other's cooking.

* * *

_Translations:_

_Oui; yes_

_Angleterre; England_

_If there are any mistakes in this, I'm sorry; it's currently like 1:30 here and I am exhausted, but I wrote this specially for you guys (you should feel so honoured :P). Thank you so much to everybody who reviewed or favourited or even just read the story; you all really did make it so much easier to update. _

_I've decided that this will be my main project; Introducing the UK will only be updated when I get a flash of inspiration – as it is a family-based fanfiction and it is coming up to Christmas these will be more likely as I will be spending more time with my family. Back to School is, as you can tell, currently really just shallow humour, but I do want to add in some depth or seriousness as I do prefer writing it. If you would like to request a pairing do, and if I ship it (or at least don't hate it :P) I will attempt to add some fluff in. And now I'm rambling because I'm tired and am developing a headache, so I'll shut up and hope you enjoy this chapter because it was really fun to write!_


	5. Chapter Four: Counselling

Spain was lying on his bed eating a tomato when Prussia barged into their room. The expression on the ex-nation's face was enough to freeze a volcano. Spain laughed.

"Ah, Prussia, what happened?"

"We have detention! Me and that frying pan bitch and all those blonde Allies bastards. And Austria got off scot-free!"

"But wouldn't that be because Austria didn't do anything?"

"He did! He sat there and looked smug and that is not awesome! Not awesome at all!"

Spain frowned. For a start, he didn't even understand what Prussia was going on about, not having been a part of the offending History class, and on top of all that, what even was detention?

"What is detention anyway?"

"We have to spend our lunch writing lines or something or whatever that principal weirdo decides to make us do. She's such a bitch! I mean, I know Hungary hit me with a frying pan but it's not anything important and all America did was take pictures of France and England fighting which they do all the time anyway! Why do we have to go to some _unawesome _detention just because she has some massive stick up her ass, huh?"

Spain laughed, "Ah Prussia, it will not be so bad, just you wait and see. And it's only once and now you know not to do it again, _sí_?"

"Not to do it again? Are you serious Spain? This is war. This is downright war. You and me and France are going to take on this school and make it see that it cannot put the awesome Prussia in detention! Or France. The others can write lines or something, but not me! Or France."

"Well, what do you suppose you do? You can't keep having fights wherever it was you had fights, _mi amigo_. That is not the way to do this."

"Well, how do you suggest we do this? Offer them all a tomato and see what happens then?"

"_Sí, _Prussia, that's a great idea!"

Prussia sighed. Where was France when you needed him?

* * *

"And I do not see why _I _had to be put in detention, you started it!"

France was sitting uninvited on America's bed and glaring at England. England ignored him, and continued reading the newspaper.

"You were involved; we were both fighting. I don't like it anymore than you do, but you can't go blaming me for all this."

"_Oui, je peux! _You started it by calling me a wanker."

"And then you called me the black sheep of Europe, so we're even."

"We are not!"

"Face it, frog, we are. This was your fault too, and maybe they overreacted by sending us to counselling, but complaining isn't going to do anything about it, is it?"

France sighed dramatically, "Yes, why do we have to go to counselling? We do not need that!"

England shrugged, turning the page, "Your guess is as good as mine, France."

The door opened and America poked his head around, "Hey, France! What are you doing here?"

"Complaining," England muttered. America nodded as though that was perfectly normal. Which, considering who it was, could possibly be true.

"Oh right! Cos I was sent to tell you that we're all meant to go to the guidance counsellor's office now."

England put down the newspaper. Today was _not _going well.

* * *

The guidance counsellor was a young woman whose room was softly lit and smelled of incense. She was wearing what looked like some sort of ancient alien headgear, full of feathers and beads. Bangles snaked their way up to each elbow and clinked whenever she moved, but she didn't seem to mind. Instead she smiled kindly at each student when they walked in; experiences like this could be daunting, she knew, and it was always important to make each and every person who paid her a visit feel welcome. She couldn't remember the last time someone had actually paid her a visit of their own accord, but it didn't do to dwell on these things. Positive atmospheres were important.

"Good morning everybody," her voice sounded like someone who was trying a little too hard to speak sweetly, "My name is Ms Smyth and I am the guidance counsellor. Now, we haven't called your mums and dads yet, because we think that this business shows that there are a couple of weensy issues that you have with each other, yes?"

No one replied; they were all staring at Ms Smyth with open mouths.

"Umm...not really..." Hungary began. Ms Smyth looked at her. It looked like she was _trying _to raise an eyebrow, but her brain wouldn't let her; raising eyebrows was bad. It was not good for the general aura of the room.

England tried to think of a way to explain this whole thing without sounding insane, "Well, uhh...as you can see we're all from different countries. Except Pru – Gilbert, who's the same nationality as Ludwig, really, because Prussia doesn't actually exist."

"HEY! I AM THE AWESOME PRUSSIAN!"

England ignored him, "And we're all, emm...very knowledgeable about history, especially the history of our own countries and _some of us _come from overly patriotic countries so we sort of...tend to argue over that sort of stuff?"

Credit where it's due, Ms Smyth only blinked twice as she took in all of that information. She immediately lost any credit she may have gained when moving her arms sounded like an entire orchestra of bangles clinking.

"Well! Maybe it would help if we talked it over? What exactly happened in your countries' pasts that make it so hard for all of you to get along?"

"I really don't think that's such a good idea," Hungary said, fiddling with one of her flower hairclips.

"Why not? Sometimes when you have issues with another person it helps if you just have a nice, quiet, grown-up conversation with each other."

Hungary suddenly felt very much like hitting somebody. Preferably Ms Smyth, but Prussia would work too.

"In this case, _mademoiselle, _I think it would be for the best if we did not try that particular strategy," France added.

"Elizaveta. Francis. I understand that you may be concerned about bringing up any touchy subjects, but I really don't see what can go wrong."

"Haha, you guys are just saying that cos you're still pissed about all those wars you guys – wait, your countries – had! And that America had to bail your sorry asses out in all those World Wars!"

There was complete silence for an entire minute.

"NOBODY SPEAK!" England yelled, "WE CAN SETTLE THIS ANOTHER TIME BUT RIGHT NOW EVERYBODY TRY YOUR HARDEST NOT TO PUNCH ALFRED IN THE FACE! HUN – ELIZAVETA, PUT THE FRYING PAN AWAY!"

Ms Smyth blinked three times this time. Prussia raised a hand, "Can I punch him in the balls instead? That'd be awesome!"

"No! No punching anybody!"

"But mommm," America whined. England whirled to face him, elbowing France in the process.

"You can shut up, you're the one everyone is currently threatening with physical violence – NO SAUCEPANS EITHER! And why did you just call me mum?"

"Because it's ironic! Cos you're acting like my mom!"

Despite her strange obsession with sparkly jewellery, Ms Smyth did have a slight knack for dissecting group dynamics. Thus it was that she did not actually notice Hungary bringing out the kitchen implements; she was far too focused on England's attempted superiority and how laughably ineffective it was. His interactions with France were far more exciting than Hungary utilising said kitchen implement on both Prussia and America, and the former's response. It took France and England's second attempt that day to put the other into a headlock to get Ms Smyth to actually pay attention to what was happening in her office.

"Children!" she gasped. Her choice of collective noun automatically gained the attention of every person in the room, "This is not dignified behaviour!"

Prussia glared at her, "What did you call us? That is so un – not awesome!"

The amendment to his sentence was the result of a particularly forceful glare from the one country in the room that actually cared about the English language. Ms Smyth was looking daggers at each of them.

"To me, Gilbert, each and every one of you is a child! Regardless of your ages, your actions are juvenile and childish!"

"They're basically the same thing," England pointed out. It was probably not as helpful as he had intended.

"I am sorry to say, Arthur, that I do not care! Much as I appreciate your attempts to keep order, this behaviour cannot simply go on! It is obvious to me that there are certain dynamics that just do not work; Elizaveta, your continued attempts to concuss Gilbert, and Gilbert's excessive attempts to aggravate you show that you two should definitely never be in the same room. Arthur and Francis, you take every opportunity to fight. Alfred...I don't even know what to say to you except that you show an astonishing inability to read the atmosphere."

America frowned, "Is that a book? Arthur, have you read it?"

England put his head in his hands and wondered where on earth he went wrong with the self-proclaimed US of A.

"I do not see how any of these are bad things," Prussia said, "They're awesome!"

Ms Smyth gaped at him, "I cannot believe you, Gilbert! You...you have been knocked out at least once today and were hit again five minutes ago!"

"But I'm not even concussed! It's awesome!"

Ms Smyth was not a doctor, but she was fairly certain that that was impossible, "You evidently are, and may even have contracted severe brain damage," – the heartbreaking thing about that sentence was that it wasn't even sarcastic – "Regardless of any of this, if your current behaviour continues I will insist that none of you are ever to be in the same room as each other again without at least five adults there."

"Do I count?" France asked, "Seeing as technically speaking, I am an adult."

It was at that point that Ms Smyth decided she would give up her job in favour of becoming a hermit in the Himalayas.

* * *

_Translations:_

_Oui, je peux; Yes I can (this is literally translated into English so may be wrong. Any French speakers are welcome to correct me)_

_Mademoiselle; Miss_

_I feel like I should explain about the interchanging human/country names; so basically, all the countries are meant to be calling each other by their human names, but they'd only have the ones they were more likely to interact with committed to memory. Depending on the country in question - *cough * America *cough* - they'd forget halfway through a particularly animated conversation who was who and revert back to their normal speech pattern. So for the first couple of days at least, they'd be chopping and changing._

_Ms Smyth is sneakily sort of based off the guidance counsellor for my class, who is a total weirdo (she came to school in a bright blue one of those hippy caravans last year and whenever she speaks sounds like some sort of forced whispering mixed with maple syrup. And no, she is not Canadian)._

_I'm kind of annoyed but also really excited because I've thought of yet another fanfiction I want to write. I don't even know whether I will actually end up writing it and it'll take a lot of planning to do so but if I do rest assured that I will still be updating this._


	6. Chapter Five: Plans

England clenched his fists and tried very hard to remember what it had said in the file America's boss had given him. _Do not show any undue hatred of the French. Real people do not do that. Not even English people. _What did it mean, real people didn't do that? Of course they did! Everyone knew that England and France did not get along. This meant that English people and French people did not get along. All one had to do was open a history book to see the reasons why! Although this textbook, like so many others, blamed England for Joan of Arc. Was it really too much to believe that she had been sentenced to death by the French for wearing trousers?

Apparently, yes. The day after the counselling session had held another history lesson. This history lesson had been about French history – the smirk of that frog's face should have gone down in legend – and yet again, England got the blame for Joan of Arc. By now everyone should have realised that it had had absolutely nothing to do with him! At all! But no, she was a French _hero_, and everyone knew that the English didn't like the French, so _obviously _it was England because who else would it be? It was infuriating. He stopped as a group of 4th years passed him, and then turned around, because their conversation was really very interesting.

"-But it was the French! They sentenced her to death for wearing trousers!"

"You only say that because you're English."

"No, I say that because it's historical fact! Just because that stupid anime show you watch says it's canon that it was England doesn't mean that history does. History doesn't even have canon!"

"Well, it should. Then we could have fanon! And headcanon! How awesome would that be?"

"That would suck. And stop changing the subject! Why is it always France anyway? 1066 was a Norman victory and they weren't even French! They were from Normandy!"

"Normandy is French."

"Not then it wasn't, it was just Normandy. They were like Vikings or something.."

"You shouldn't say something, makes you sound like you're wrong. 'Sides, sometimes your obsession with Joan of Arc makes me think you are French."

"That's just rude. And did you see that French guy in history today, acting all smug?"

"I was more focused on his face. It was good-looking."

"I swear, you are the gayest person I know. Besides, he's _French._"

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

"It is!"

"Just cos you're English."

"This has nothing to with the fact that I am English and everything to do with the fact that he is French!"

Their voices died away and England smirked. _Real people don't do that my ass, _he thought, _They are English. So they do not like French people. That is all. _The fact that there was no real reason for French and English people in this day and age to dislike each other was irrelevant. It was principal, you know? Besides, rivalry was good. A bit of competition, all that jazz. Nothing to do with the fact that he did not like France on a personal level. Nothing at all like that. You didn't get personal with history, everyone knew that. Sure, he'd trashed Spain's armada a couple of times, but that was because the bastard was trying to invade! Grudges just did not exist among nations. Not at all.

Which was why it was far better to be spending lunch far away from any of the countries who may or may not dislike him and be eating it with somebody who was not in a position to be holding grudges. Like Prussia. At least his grudge was against the rest of the world too, and the only bit about it that was personal was aimed towards the entire earth rather than just one country. It made it easy to avoid trouble, and the ex-nation made a wonderful drinking partner. Unfortunately England had not counted on the fact that with Prussia came France and Spain. He was only too happy for their current common enemy.

"_Sérieusement_, _mon ami, _we need to do something about this! They cannot think we would just let them walk all over us like that, no?"

"But France, what can we do?" Spain asked, usually optimistic face twisted into a frown that did not suit him, "From what I have heard you all started a fight, which is not good, _sí_?"

"But it wasn't our fault, Spain! They brought up World War Two! There are some things you do not bring up, and that is one of them," England said. He couldn't help butting in; the conversation was interesting.

Spain nodded, "That does make more sense. But what do you want to do about it? Just go to the detention and get it over with, there's no point in starting wars. Or we could give them all tomatoes."

England sighed. Spain really was utterly useless. Utterly useless.

"Spain, _mon ami, _you cannot possibly think that would solve what is the problem here! This is not just a mere issue of a detention! No, this is more, this is a matter of prejudice, of a deep-rooted distrust of nations, sown among their own people! Ah, _c'est terrible_!"

"Shut it, frog, they don't even know what we are so you quit your dramatics. It's just that they're a load of grumpy old codgers who can't even appreciate what it is we're fighting about."

"Well, in fairness, they did try, didn't they," Spain asked, frowning. Again, "I thought they sent you to a guidance counsellor?"

"Well, yes, Spain," England sighed, "But what did you expect us to say, 'oh don't mind us, we're just the anthropomorphic personifications of your countries and the reason we're fighting is because we can't get over the rather more serious fights we've had in our past'? Besides, she was _American. _She'd probably die of embarrassment when she found out what her country was like."

"Now, now, England, don't be mean," Prussia smirked, "But I suppose not everybody can be as awesome as I am. What can it be like for the rest of you peasants, always to be faced with the epitome of awesomeness but never able to reach it?"

England groaned. Prussia was at it again. He would quite like to beat the ex-nation around the head with a frying pan, possibly borrowed from Hungary, but there were more pressing matters to be dealt with.

"How do you even know what epitome means?"

Prussia shrugged, "West bet me I couldn't read the dictionary."

"_Mon ami, _you can't read your own name," France said.

"Yeah, I know, but he bet me a year of World Meetings. So I read this kiddie's one I found in the library."

"How did that have epitome in it?"

"It was for advanced children. I'm advanced, so I read it."

"You must be so proud, learning words for three-year-olds," England muttered. He would have to have a word with Germany about this. Prussia attending World Meetings would be tantamount to the apocalypse, and there was a serious chance that he might start World War Three. Prussia must have plied his brother with beer. Or spiked his drink. There was no way a bet with so many loopholes would have been made anyway. He had said a year's worth of meetings. Not this year's meetings, or last year's meetings. Any year's meetings. Prussia could pull out his trump card anytime.

"We need to strike back," Prussia grinned, changing the topic of conversation with all the tact of a tank, "We need to rise up against the regime."

Unfortunate choice of words given that for a lot of time they had been the regime. But unimportant.

"How?" England sneered, "By having Gilbird fly around proclaiming how awesome you are?"

"That would be awesome! But no, Gilbird can't talk. So we'll have to think of another way."

France grinned, "Pranks. Except for _Angleterre _over there," – England glared daggers at France – "We all have experience at this sort of thing, _oui_? It's perfect."

"But if we do that they'll think it's us!" Prussia said, "Not that I'm scared of getting caught or anything."

"_Oui_," France mused, "Which is why we will not do it."

England sighed for the hundredth time that morning. Sometimes that frog made no sense whatsoever.

* * *

_Translations:_

_Sérieusement; Seriously_

_Mon ami; My friend_

_Oui; Yes_

_Angleterre; England_

_Finally a chapter! Even if it is kind of crappy. It's a bit rushed because I want to get this up before my mum calls me to help out in the kitchen. But luckily I've annoyed her so much she's banished me for now *evil laugh*._


	7. Chapter Six: Shipping

_Magnus is Denmark. I have been unable to find an actual canon name for him, though Matthias seems a generally accepted one amongst the fandom, and given that I am using Magnus is my other fic and prefer it, he is Magnus here as well._

* * *

Hungary glared at the textbook in front of her. She was not normally given to overly intense fits of glaring – she left that to Belarus – but this was an exception. Her frying pan had been taken away from her. Regardless of what else happened from now on, she did not have her frying pan. All was no longer well with the world. And, as though the world was taking this opportunity to rub salt in the wound, Prussia was in most of her classes. Granted, he was not nearly as insufferable as he had been, but that was irrelevant. He was _Prussia_.

Hungary was early for class, and so busied herself with eavesdropping on all the other conversations around her. None of them were particularly interesting until she chanced on three kids at the back giggling about something.

"-I ship them so badly," one laughed behind her hand. Her friend nodded.

"I mean, the way she hit him with a frying pan," he added, shaking his head. The third giggled higher than Hungary would have thought humanly possible.

"There's so much unresolved sexual tension!"

Hungary marched over to the group, arms akimbo. Her expression was one that had been known to make Germany run away scared. Italy too, but that was to be expected.

"What do you mean, unresolved sexual tension?"

The three squeaked, the boy diving behind his friend.

"We were just – I mean...please don't hit me with a frying pan," he blurted. Hungary just continued to glare. She could feel a headache coming on, but did not care.

"We – we were just talking about shipping," one of the girls blubbered, "Nothing important..."

Hungary frowned, "Shipping?"

"Yeah!" the other girl grinned, seemingly overjoyed at the chance to talk about what was probably her favourite pastime, "You know, when you ship two people?"

"No..." Hungary had heard of shipping from Japan, of course, but was more interested in the hardcore anime he had been holding at the time rather than any of his lectures on what people wanted the characters to do.

"Oh! Well it's where you want two people you know, well you don't have to know them, it could be from a fandom, but it's where you want them to start a relationship."

"Right...and you ship me and-" she couldn't say it. It was too awful.

"You and, uh...Gilbert," the other girl muttered quietly, before adding, as though this made it better, "But some other people ship you and Roderich!"

To be fair, that _did _make it better.

"But some people ship those two together. That's pretty much the biggest love triangle in the school right now!"

"...love triangle?" Hungary growled.

"Shipping triangle!" the boy said hastily, "Shipping triangle! It's not the biggest ship war though."

"Oh?" Hungary tried to ignore the fact that she was interested in this. She really did, "What's that then?"

"Oooh!" the second girl squealed, "It's, emm...Alfred and that British guy, Arthur. That's probably bigger but a lot of people ship Arthur and Francis too. There are loads more too!"

It took all of Hungary's willpower not to squeal and grab the girl by her shoulders and force her to spill all her juicy shipping secrets. Instead she made a big effort just to ask nonchalantly, "Any more ships?"

"Oh loads! There's...oh yeah! Berwald and Tino! They're so cute, and basically canon too – uh, that's when your ship is real. And then there's Ludwig and Feliciano, which is like canon but it doesn't know it."

This time Hungary really did squeal, "Ludwig – Ludwig and Feliciano? They're so cute!"

"I know right!" the first girl said, "But d'you know what's even more adorable? Lovino and Antonio! Lovino is _such _a tsundere."

"What's a tsundere?"

"Emm..well it's basically where the person is actually nice but they act like _really _bitchy to the people they like. Arthur's a _massive _one too."

Hungary paused, mulling that over...Romano and Spain wasn't one she would have necessarily thought of on her own, not like Germany and Italy who were just so adorable – and oh, why hadn't she seen that sooner? – but Romano did seem especially defensive whenever Spain was around and he always blushed and why hadn't she realised how cute that was before? And Austria and Prussia and her...okay, so if you ignored her and Prussia, because _Hungary _and _Prussia _was just awful, you had to admit that Prussia and Austria made an adorable couple. Even if she did want Austria all to herself – now there was a ship she would gladly get on board with – she wouldn't mind sharing. At all.

"Ooh, ooh," the boy said, "What do you think about Toris and Feliks? Aren't they, like, sooo cute."

"I dunno," one of the girls replied, "What about Toris and Elizaveta?"

This brought Hungary back down to earth.

"What do you mean – me and _Po – Feliks?" _

"Yeah! I mean you're already good enough friends, right? And you guys would make an adorable couple!"

"What about that thing, the shipping triangle thingy, don't you ship that?"

"I do! But I can ship more than one thing; I mean most people who even think about that ship you with Gilbert _and _Roderich and then those two together as well. So there's no problem with me shipping you with someone else."

Hungary shrugged. Her and Poland notwithstanding, when you thought about it that wasn't really that weird.

"Oh my God, Elizaveta, what do you think about Kiku and Heracles?"

"Kiki and -" Hungary took a little while to think about that one before she realised just how _adorable _they were, "They are so cute!"

"No way! I totally ship Alfred and Kiku!" the boy yelled.

That was a new one, "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, Alfred and Kiku, they're brilliant together."

"Not as brilliant as Gilbert and Matthew, though," one of the girls reminded him.

How many people was Prussia shipped with? And where had that one even come from? They barely even spoke, and wait...who was Matthew?"

"Who's Matthew?"

"Matthew!" the boy said, "You know, that Canadian guy? Alfred's brother?"

Hungary couldn't remember who on earth they were talking about, but if he was Canadian then that meant he must be...Canada? Was that a country? Canada...oh yeah, maple syrup and polar bears! _Of course! _But she still didn't understand why he was shipped with Prussia.

"I don't really think that one makes sense," she told the others.

"Me neither," one of the girls agreed, shaking her head, "I totally ship Matthew and Francis."

But wasn't France like Canada's brother? Granted, he tried to be _everyone's_ brother – which really brought down his success at attempts to get other nations to go out with him – but still. England had been America's older brother though, once, and they really were very cute, and Canada and France had basically the same relationship except closer because of the lack of a revolutionary war getting in the way so...that one could still work!

"Nah," Hungary shrugged, "I don't ship it."

"Hear hear!" the boy said, "But we're ignoring the obvious one; Lukas and Magnus. Come on, it's staring us right in the face."

"Who are they?" Hungary asked, "I don't think I've ever heard of them before."

Because really, who were they?

"Emm...I think Lukas is Norwegian. And Magnus is that guy who always acts like he's either high or drunk and waves around that massive axe."

So Lukas was Norway. Axes and beer...that made Magnus Denmark!

"OH MY GOD THEY ARE ADORABLE!" Hungary squealed.

"I KNOW RIGHT?" her three new friends yelled back.

"Not as adorable as Ivan and Natalia though!" the boy remarked cheerfully.

"Dude..." his friend replied, "That is _fucked up_. He is her _brother_."

"So? Doesn't stop her from crushing on him every second of the day!"

"You're both wrong!" the other girl yelled, "It's totally Ivan and Alfred, God!"

Hungary had to pause a little at that. Because Ivan was Russia and Alfred was America so...so that was just wrong on _so _many levels. And utterly, _utterly, _shippable.

"Sure," she shrugged, "What else do you guys ship?"

"ALFRED AND NATALIA MY LORD JESUS THAT IS BEAUTIFUL."

Hungary gaped, "Okay, that one's just...where did that even come from? That's just...what?"

The boy sighed, "You have to realise that that is a stupid ship, okay? You know what's way better though? Roderich and Vash. That is unreleased sexual tension, right there."

That one required a bit of thinking about. On the one hand, it was _Austria, _and so seeing him with really any other male nation would be pretty great. But on the other hand, this was Austria and Switzerland. Both of whom hated each other. Unreleased sexual tension could only go about as far as England and France before it reached its limit.

"I think Matthew and Katyusha would be cute!"

There were sighs from the rest of the group, "How many times have we told you, you can't ship on personality alone! It has to be on recorded and _verified_ social interactions, okay?"

"Okay. What about Raivis and Eduard?"

"I guess that one's okay."

The classroom was starting to quieten down as the teacher entered and began pleading with his students to shut up. Hungary went back to her seat and sat down, slightly less annoyed about the loss of her frying pan. This shipping business seemed interesting, at the very least, and Hungary could already feel herself becoming invested. And people shipped her and Austria? She knew she wasn't just imagining things!

It was a little way into the class when Hungary felt a tap on her back. She turned around and saw the boy from earlier.

"Hey, Elizaveta, what d'you think about shipping Gilbert with himself?"

* * *

_God this chapter was so incredibly fun to write. I guess I have Hungary and shipping to thank for the removal of my writer's block – the reason I haven't update for a while, for which I am so sorry. A quick note: I ship quite a few of these pairings *cough* FrUK and AusHun and SuFin and GerIta and Spamano and DenNor and Giripan *cough* sooooo much but the rest not so much. I feel like I'm too involved in the PruAusHun triangle (because really I would be fine with all of them) to ship AusHun but they're just so adorable. _


	8. Chapter Seven: Newspapers

"What is this?"

Hungary looked at the page in front of her, slammed down by a red-nailed claw. The claw belonged to the headmistress of the school – or prison – in which the European nation was currently staying, and the face of that headmistress was currently contorted in rage. It made her look an awful lot like a harpy.

"What's what?" Hungary asked, the picture of innocence. She was wearing her school uniform, her hair was tied back neatly – though of course Lake Balaton was still pinned in place – and that incident with the frying pan aside she was a model student. There was no way she could be in any trouble; she didn't even know what she was accused of.

"This!" the principal yelled, "Ms Héderváry, when I made you the editor of the school newspaper it was because there was absolutely nobody else who wanted to take the job. _Not _so that you could print scandalous gossip about students!"

Hungary looked down at the paper, trying to figure out what it was that she was responsible for. She knew what had gone into the edition, of course, but for the life of her couldn't see what on earth was wrong about any of it. The front page was the usual, a description of the work that had taken place in the school that week. Underneath the main article was a picture of America and one of Japan.

"Oh, that! I was just talking about how their relationship is obviously unresolved sexual tension!"

"You then described both of their relationships with Mr Kirkland as unresolved sexual tension as well. And then went on to pair almost all the students in the school with each other."

"We're starting a column advising students on shipping."

"Shipping? Do they need to know which type of pasta to import?"

"No, shipping, as in like relationship-ing people. They can write in with questions, and every week we'll feature a couple, where we'll tell them all about it!"

"Right. And the fact that none of these people are in a relationship is irrelevant, is it?"

"Well," Hungary grinned, "That's half of the fun of shipping!"

"You have, ahem, 'shipped', Mr Galante and Mr Kirkland."

Hungary frowned, "Raivis and...Arthur? No, I definitely haven't paired them yet. You have to base shipping on verified social encounters, you see and I don't think Lat , uh, Raivis, I mean, talks to many people."

"Raivis and Peter, who are, I believe, fifteen and twelve."

Hungary shrugged, "They can grow into it. At least now they know what's expected of them."

The principal glared at Hungary, beady eyes narrowed so much that they were threatening to slip out of existence, "With articles like this, with..._implications_ such as these, you must have realised that you would need to run it through me first."

"Really? But we've sold three times as many copies in this week than the newspaper club has in its entire history! There's nothing wrong with it, it's just harmless fun," Hungary said as she lied through her teeth.

The glare directed at her intensified, and Hungary found her fingers automatically opening and closing around the non-existent handle of a frying pan that was not there. It was so sad. The principal's lips thinned.

"Well. I'm sure you have no reason to mean it any other way, Miss Héderváry, and I suppose you may be allowed to continue your column, but this will not go without punishment. The Christmas part is coming up and you will be helping to set it up along with several other students who have committed...transgressions in this week. Be in the hall at three this afternoon."

Hungary nodded, and showed herself out, walking to the room she shared with Liechtenstein, who was at a class. Sitting down on her bed, she drew out her own copy of this week's edition of the school newspaper and looked at it fondly. She really was quite proud of it. Of course, the only reason she'd chosen Japan and America over something with Austria in it was because her three new friends – now the only other members of the newspaper club – had assured her that the pairing would sell more copies.

The article detailed every possible detail anyone could ever want to know about their relationship, from video games to any other ships each was affiliated with. She hadn't heard what the nations themselves thought of it, but she was sure they wouldn't mind; after all, it was Japan and America, and you had to start somewhere. Next week's issue about France and England would be the one to worry about.

* * *

"Hungary!" Hungary looked up as she entered the school hall to see America running over to her, a weird expression his face. He was holding a newspaper, "What is this?"

"It's shipping!" Hungary grinned, "It's where you want two people to be in a relationship!"

"I know what shipping is, Hungary," said Japan, "I just don't understand why you have shipped myself and America."

"Because everybody else does," Hungary informed them, "Well, okay, it's not one of the biggest ships, but you have to start somewhere, right?"

"Dude, what do you mean it's not one of the biggest! If I have to be shipped with someone then I should be the best!" America yelled.

"It's okay America!" Hungary said, "Apart from Germany and Italy, the biggest ship is you and England."

"WHAT?"

Hungary turned to around to see England, glaring at them all with the expression that had been rumoured to start his civil war.

"People want...what the hell? You better not write about that, Hungary!"

"I'm sorry, it probably will turn up one day; I don't know whether there are enough for an entire year without and it is really popular! But you and France are next."

"What? Me and – what? That wanker!"

And then England ran off to find France and presumably inflict some hopefully permanent damage. Hungary winced, suddenly very glad that all frying pans in the local vicinity had been confiscated. That gratitude disappeared as Prussia arrived.

"Kesese, what's this I hear about your newspaper Hungary? You better put me in it, it won't be awesome without me."

Hungary turned to him smiling sweetly, "Of course. After England and France it's you and Austria."

Prussia's face drained of all colour so smoothly Hungary wondered whether he'd set a new world record.

"AUSTRIAAAA!" he screamed, before running off and jumping on the unfortunate nation. Hungary smirked, before pulling her camera out of her pocket. She might have to bring forward that article.

"Hang on, what's Austria doing here?" America asked, "Me and Japan got in trouble for playing video games in class, but what did you do?"

Austria looked distinctly uncomfortable, "Apparently this school prohibits the enjoyment of any form of music. I was playing the piano and received this punishment for doing so."

"Kesese, Austria, you should talk to Kugelmugel about that. He'd probably view that as suppressing art and you could declare your independence together."

At the mention of declaring independence England, who currently had France in a headlock, squeaked.

"I think not, Prussia."

"You aristocrats are so unawesome."

"UNAWESOME IS NOT A WORD PRUSSIA!" England yelled. This led to his hold on France loosening, who took the moment to run away, "Wait, France, where are you going? Come back you wanker I haven't finished beating them up!"

America slung an arm around England's shoulder – at which point Hungary's camera popped up gain – and grinned, "Lighten up England, it isn't France's fault."

"Well then whose fault is it?"

"I dunno, but at least you're not shipped with Japan!"

"Actually he is," Hungary cut in helpfully.

"Damn," England said, "Well I can't beat Japan up about all this."

"But you can beat me up?" France asked, "_Mon dieu, Angleterre, _my heart, it is wounded!"

"Oh shut it frog!"

Round two of England and France's fight began with the two of them simultaneously trying to punch the other and both missing. Hungary's camera began to run out of memory.

"Guys!" Hungary said, "I don't get what the big deal about all this is! I'm just shipping you!"

"Well," Austria began, "I don't think all of these are up to date with current international relations, dear."

"You did mention something about Russia and America in your, ahem, exhaustive list," England added in between aiming punches somewhere in the direction of France.

"Oh, yeah, but come on, don't tell me you guys don't ship it a weensy bit."

"No," America said, "Sorry," before adding, "And you put down England and France! Those guys hate each other!"

The silence that followed that quote was intensely awkward.

"What?" the countries in question said indignantly, "We do hate each other!"

"Kesese, you guys are hilarious."

"Shut it, Prussia."

* * *

_I think maybe I've gone too far with the shipping but it's hilarious and right now the only thing I can write for this story is Hungary and her love for shipping and yaoi in any shape or form. I'm really sorry it's so awful but I wanted to get something up for you guys; thank you so much to all of you for even reading this. You guys rock! Hopefully the next chapter will be better, because I have a sort-of-idea-that-might-not-work-but-hopefully-will. But in other news; chapter seven! That's actually the farthest I've ever got in something I've written, which is slightly sad._


	9. Chapter Eight: Pasta!

Sealand was enjoying his time in school. It might have had something to do with his immaturity, the fact that he was younger than most of the other nations anyway, or just because he was a bit weird. That aside, he was spending time with Liechtenstein, because they were in the same class, as well the micro-nations who had decided to tag onto the project despite the lack of formal invitation and that was fun. The fact that nobody wanted them there did not deter them, and they spent their days trying to be acknowledged by the actual countries – who categorically ignored them – or annoying the rest of their classmates. So far they had done no work whatsoever and intended to keep it that way.

Whenever he was not with his friends – he actually did have friends, they just weren't recognised officially by anybody else – Sealand spent his time with Sweden, Finland and the rest of the Nordics. Okay, he was _technically _an abandoned fort in the middle of the sea, and _technically _was therefore not a Nordic, but Sweden and Finland seemed to like him well enough and that was enough for him, whatever Denmark and Norway and Iceland thought. It was a happy arrangement in which both parties pointedly ignored the wishes of the other and then ignored the fact that their wishes were being ignored. A circle such as this will always end well because it is a circle and therefore will never change or be broken. Hopefully.

Because of this, Sealand was quite surprised when France sought him out one day after class. The European nation hadn't been hit very hard by the spell – all it had really done was make him a little bit shorter, smoothen out his face and remove any scars – and Sealand recognised him immediately. He looked a little shifty.

"France! Hi!"

"_Bonjour, _Sealand. Perhaps we could talk a little more privately?"

"Okay!"

Sealand led the way – he knew every corner of this school, probably better than even that jerk England – and eventually stopped beside a disused store cupboard. The two squeezed inside.

"Well," France said, "I will cut to the chase, as you British – you of British origin, I should say – would say. You want to be recognised as a country, no?"

"I am a country!" Sealand protested, "But yeah, I do."

"Well, I know a way that will definitely make at least four of us recognise you. And Prussia, but he does not really count, after all. And it will make England really, really mad but he will have to acknowledge you anyway!"

Sealand's interested was piqued. This was too good to be true; a chance to annoy jerk England and get official status as a nation, all in one!

"Tell me!" he pleaded. France laughed. Sealand had never noticed before, but that laugh was really annoying.

"I should warn, you will probably need the help of Italy for this, but here are the details."

As France laid out the plan, devised by himself, England, Prussia and Spain, Sealand felt a grin begin to form on his face. This was wonderful. This was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And this would definitely wipe the smirk off that jerk England's face.

* * *

In a classroom the next floor up, four people could be heard laughing maniacally. Luckily they managed to pass it off as an impromptu improvisation of Macbeth.

* * *

The next day, Sealand headed out into the big bad school building to find Italy. He didn't know where he would be able to find his quarry, but a stolen look at Finland's timetable said that most of the older classes had Drama. This meant that the logical next step would be to find a Drama classroom and go from there. So Sealand set out, armed with ham sandwiches in case he got lost and didn't make it back in time for lunch uyand a map. For someone who quite literally was a small and slightly rusty fort in the middle of the North Sea this was quite the adventure.

The first classroom Sealand came to was home to a sixth year English classroom. After staring through the keyhole for a good few minutes, he was able to ascertain that no, despite the presence of both Spain and France, Italy was not there. A particularly persistent cat kept threatening to give away his position, so Sealand headed onwards.

The next room contained a fifth year History lesson. Sealand winced, knowing what History lessons among nations were like, but decided to have a quick peek anyway. This classroom had a window in it; if he stood on his tiptoes he could see everything. Prussia and Hungary were glaring at each other from desks on either side of the classroom. Romano was glaring at pretty much everybody. England was taking notes while glaring at the teacher. Sealand could hardly contain a laugh when he saw that the title of the Powerpoint presentation on the board was entitled 'Factors Contributing to the Fall of the British Empire, Including the Independence of America, Ireland and Other Colonies'. Served that jerk right anyway.

The third room was a common room, containing several overly-excited micro-nations listening to Christmas carols. Sealand spotted Ladonia's laptop screaming at Wy to turn it on, who was glaring at Hutt River, who was trying to get Seborga to listen to him, who in turn was trying to flirt with Wy. Kugelmugel was screaming loudly that Bing Crosby did not truly understand art, while Molossia was yelling at the room at large and the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus was standing in a corner and electing not to say anything. It looked like fun, and ordinarily Sealand would have jumped at the chance to join his friends, but today he had a job to do.

In the fourth classroom Austria was playing the piano. He jumped when Sealand walked past, but soon afterwards the music began again. Sealand didn't mind; he liked it. But he wouldn't tell Austria that because the other country was a jerk for not recognising him.

In the fifth Sealand saw two of the three Baltics decorating for Christmas. Latvia was taking a swig from something that looked suspiciously like a flask full of vodka and Estonia appeared to be on the watch for Russia. All in all, very little work was actually being done. When Sealand opened the door they both jumped, but relaxed once he told them that Russia was in English. Afterwards the drinking stopped and the decorating actually started. It looked very nice.

In the sixth, Monaco and Macau were playing poker. It looked intense, and Sealand decided not to intervene. Besides, Monaco was scary – though that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was smarter than him. Not at all.

By the seventh, Sealand was beginning to tire and decided to break out the sandwiches. They weren't great; too much butter and not enough ham, but at least England hadn't made them. Sealand peered through, absent-mindedly munching a sandwich, and jumped when he saw Italy's fourth year class. Germany was sitting uncomfortably in a corner, watching Poland re-enact Romeo and Juliet with Lithuania. This play's Romeo looked as though he would rather be anywhere else, and there was a very out of character expression of relief on his face as he died. Italy started clapping as soon as the play was over, and Sealand grinned at the sight of the nation he had spent the better part of the morning looking for.

The bell rang and Sealand flattened himself against the wall as the drama class began to pour out of the room, keeping one eye out for Italy. He came out of the class last, blabbering on to Germany about how wonderful the play was and weren't Poland and Lithuania great and oh, what if they put on an end of term play for everybody? Sealand accosted him just as he came to how wonderful it would be and how much he hoped Romano would enjoy it and if Italy acted in it would Germany too?

"Italy!" Sealand yelled, "Over here!"

Italy hurried over, dragging Germany with him.

"Oh," Germany said, "What do you want?"

"I need to talk to Italy."

"Ve, okay! Germany, you don't need to stay, it's okay. Can you tell Romano I want to talk to him?"

"_Ja_, I will do."

Germany left, and Sealand pulled Italy into the corner, "Hey, Italy, so you know how pasta is really great and stuff?"

"I know!" Italy said, nodding vigorously, "It's wonderful! But Germany doesn't seem to like it very much."

"Okay, well, you have loads of pasta in your room, right? Can I have it?"

"What? Ve, I suppose so, but I was going to eat it!"

Sealand frowned as he remembered what France had told him to tell Italy, "Well, em, wouldn't it be great if everybody else ate it too? Because it's so wonderful? So, umm...oh, yeah, I know how to make that happen!"

"You do? Ve, that's wonderful!"

"Okay!" Sealand grinned. Everything was going great, and soon everyone would recognise him, just like France had said.

* * *

The next morning, as Poland went to the bathroom, he noticed something strange about the sink. Frowning, he stepped over and saw something that made his insides churn. All around the school, countries and humans alike were waking up to a similar catastrophe. It seemed as though every available sink in the school had been filled up with the same substance. Grumbling began to erupt in one of the corners and swelled to a roar that sent several passers-by outside running for their lives. In one bedroom, however, there was nothing but delight.

"PAAAASTAAAAAAAAAA!"

* * *

_Yup, it was decided that to get revenge for detention, France et al would manipulate Sealand into manipulating Italy into putting pasta into the sinks. Poor Sealand; they never will recognise him (most probably). Also, France is stupid, because not only is this an incredibly lame prank, Sealand could just say that France had told him to do so. Though being France he would probably blame it on England or something. I'm glad I got this plot-line out of the way, because it was annoying me, and it means I can focus more on other countries I have forgotten/not got round to. Like the micro-nations, who are all unbelievably awesome. Enjoy this chapter; you are all as awesome as Prussia. This is now the longest thing I've written, which is pretty cool and also sort of sad because I'm counting my originals in that statistic._


	10. Chapter Nine: Christmas

"Merry Christmas!" Sealand winced as Ladonia's voice cut through his pillow and into his ear. Ladonia's pillow soon followed suit.

"M'rry Christm's," he mumbled back, before sitting up and rubbing at his bleary eyes, "D'you get me anything?"

Ladonia shrugged, "Nope. Wasn't bothered."

Sealand pouted, "Really? Well, I didn't bother to get you anything either!"

"It's not that I wasn't bothered," Ladonia took it upon himself to clarify, "I just didn't have time."

"Me neither. And they still think I had something to do with the pasta and I'm not allowed down to the village."

"They still do? I mean, I know you put it in and everything, but it was really France's fault, right?"

"Yeah, it was totally his fault! And I've told the teachers a load of times that it was him and that jerk England, but they both say it wasn't them, so the principal's blaming me and France. And not even England!"

Ladonia shrugged, "Oh well. No use worrying about it on Christmas day, huh? You are going to the party later, right?"

"Yeah! It sounds like it'll be really good!"

"They're probably over-exaggerating. But it does sound good, and most of the other students will be gone so we won't have to pretend so much."

In fact it was only the nations who were staying in school for Christmas. Which was to be expected, because it was Christmas, but Sealand and Ladonia weren't to know that. Being enthusiastic about their students feeling at home, the teachers planned a party every Christmas, which they usually ended up just going to themselves. It was a rare spectacle, the sight of about twenty grown men and women getting to a state that most people would assume to be drunkenness were it not for the fact that there was no alcohol present. As nobody would be seen dead at such an affair, this year marked the first time any students had turned up at all. Apparently a team comprised of Hungary, Denmark, Prussia and America had been tasked with making the 'party' into something slightly more acceptable, for which everybody was very grateful, even the teachers. Whatever their opinions on the general attitude of what they believed to be just a group of new students, every member of staff still in the building was glad that they were going to be having slightly more impressive festivities this year. It helped them to feel less sad about their lack of meaningful lives.

"D'you think anybody else will have got us presents?" Sealand asked.

"Nah," Ladonia replied, shrugging, "They've probably been kept locked up here too. It's like we're in prison or something."

"Yeah," Sealand agreed. He was used to running around on his fort with the wind, not being cooped up inside, "Now hurry up, I want breakfast!"

Sealand made sure to grab his hat before leaving. He didn't wear his sailor costume all the time, even if it was exceptionally cool, but the hat was something he liked to hang on to. It reminded him of home, of the rusty old fort in the middle of the sea that nobody else knew existed. Sometimes it made Sealand sad, that no one paid any attention to him, but he would always console himself with the fact that one day, one day, they'd all be sorry. He'd become the great and mighty Sealand, and they'd all bow to him then. Besides, it was Christmas, so there was no point in being sad.

As he trundled downstairs with Ladonia, Sealand spotted England. He didn't like England. He didn't! But you were supposed to be nice to people on Christmas day, and wish them a merry Christmas and give them your best wishes for the New Year. And even if it was England...

"Merry Christmas, jerk England!" Sealand said cheerfully. England stopped, blinking. He looked different. Smaller, somehow – the change was particularly striking when he was stood beside France or America. His hair was even messier than before, sticking up every which way and his face was softer. He was frowning less, too. Sealand liked it, and not just because it annoyed England. It made the older country look nicer. More like a big brother.

"Oh, Merry Christmas, Sealand," England smiled, "Don't eat too many sweets."

Sealand was flustered for a second, before reverting back to his default annoyance when around England.

"I can eat as many sweets as I want!" he said stubbornly, before running over to Ladonia, who was talking with Kugelmugel. England's chuckle followed him downstairs.

Inside the dining room the nations were slightly more careful with using their human names, at least when the teachers were patrolling particularly close to them. Awkward questions were not what they wanted on Christmas day. Sealand saw Sweden and Finland sitting with the rest of the Nordics and hurried over.

"Ma – Tino! Berwald! Merry Christmas!"

"M'rry Chr'stmas, Pet'r, Osk'r," Sweden replied. It took Sealand a couple of seconds to remember that Oskar was Ladonia. The other micro-nation was glaring fiercely at Sweden, but everyone ignored that.

"Merry Christmas!" Finland echoed.

"Yeah, Merry Christmas, runt," Denmark said. Norway rapped him smartly on the head with a spoon.

"Hey! I'm not a runt!"

"Yeah," Denmark replied, "You both are!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"You're both as childish as the other," Norway muttered, "Which should be the real point here."

"Am not!" Denmark protested with the innately juvenile ability to change what it was he was arguing about, and what side of the argument he was on, at top speed. This skill also manifests itself in politicians, further proving Denmark's point that he would have made a great Student Council president.

* * *

The day passed without much incident, slight disagreements between Hungary and Prussia at whether the accent colour in the hall should be mint or forest green aside. Whoever had decided to allow them both on the Committee for Making This Party Awesome had been unanimously declared by everybody in the school to be even more of an idiot than Italy, but the school hadn't been blown up by the start of the celebration so it wasn't that big of a deal. As the day drew to a close, the students filed into the hall in dribs and drabs, chattering and laughing and generally acting as though they were not a group of centuries-old anthropomorphic personifications of countries who had fought with nearly everyone else in the room at least once.

The music started up and drinks were passed around. Hungary had taken it upon herself to provide clear labels for the alcohol and non-alcoholic beverages. Prussia had taken it upon himself to swap around every label he could. The ensuing game of chasing and label-swapping meant that really nobody knew which was which.

The two stood in a corner of the room, neither one of them bothering to dance just yet. There weren't enough people inside the hall for that; and besides, they weren't drunk. Hungary watched fondly as Austria began to play the piano, so absorbed in the music that he didn't notice that everybody else was watching. Prussia scoffed.

"Can't Mr Priss go play in some abandoned classroom or something? He'd probably have more fun in there on his own than here."

Hungary decided that she didn't want to hit Prussia with a frying pan just yet. It was too nice just sitting back and watching before complete and utter chaos descended. Because it was obvious that that was going to happen.

"You know that we're letting him play until the party's in full swing to make it seem respectable," she told him. He shrugged.

"Yeah, but still. Nobody's going to listen to him and he doesn't even realise."

"He doesn't need to."

Prussia scoffed again, "Too absorbed in himself, huh?"

"You do realise that you insult him far too much for it to be normal, don't you?"

"I still can't believe you...what's that thing called?"

"Shipping?"

"Yeah, that. I still can't believe you ship us."

Hungary laughed, "Who says I do?"

"But you wrote about it! In your magazine thingy, we were like the third one! It was awful, I couldn't even _look _at Austria for days. Not that I would anyway, of course!"

"Of course," Hungary said playfully, "Why would anyone even think that?"

"Yeah, exactly! That's my entire point! It's just...I am way too awesome for him, okay?"

"Of course, Prussia," she said absent-mindedly, twirling the straw that somebody had shoved into her punch. By this point Hungary had no idea which type it was.

"Hey Hungary?"

"Yes?"

Hungary looked up at Prussia curiously. The expression on his face was different. Almost...uncomfortable.

"Which...which one of them do you actually like? The boat thingies. With you and me and...him."

She stopped her random train of thought about which kitchen appliances made better weapons so abruptly it crashed into the one about Austria's glasses. That sounded like a simple question; who did she prefer with whom? She knew who she liked Sweden with – sorry, didn't everybody? – but not herself. Not Prussia, or Austria. There was so much weight behind the issue; centuries upon centuries. Of marriage and separation and childhood friendship and fantasy and awkward questions and it boiled down to who she liked and who she didn't.

"I don't...I don't know. I think."

Hungary stood up, about to walk away. She stopped. She leaned in and kissed her friend – because that was who he really was, despite all the fights and the possible concussions. She did not kiss him for very long. She also did not kiss him on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Prussia."

And Hungary walked away.

* * *

_Because though I ship Austria/Hungary and will do until I die, I will always be a little bit of a PruHunner. If you're reading this, RoseOfTheHills, you should be worshipping me. I really don't know what this chapter is about; it went from micro-nations to Nordics to Prussia and Hungary. And there was too much fluff. I'm choking. I'm sorry I didn't get this up until now, I had it half written by Christmas Eve and was planning to finish it that night but then I had the flu over Christmas and have been too sick to write. I'm also sorry that this is such a bad chapter, but I wanted to get it up for you guys. Merry belated Christmas to everybody who celebrates, and good health to all of you who don't. _


	11. Chapter Ten: Vikings

Sometimes, England had to wonder what ran through his teachers' brains. Ordinarily if faced with such a decision about somebody, he would say that even if they were somewhat lacking in the area of common sense, at least they were gifted at what it was they had chosen to do. It was not gentlemanly to say anything different. Unfortunately being a teacher at any level of power meant that common sense was really sort of important and even if the teachers here had had some it wouldn't have mattered because they were all really crap at being teachers. Some of the decisions they had made were really not up to scratch and he was very glad that they weren't English. Well, they probably weren't. But if they were than it would have given France an awful lot of ammunition and if there was one thing England had learned it was not give France anything that could be used against you. At least if your full name was The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and you had a questionable relationship with the other country.

One of the decisions that England had an issue with was the idea that in order to further the bonding of the entire school a selection of students would be going on an outward bounds exercise in the countryside. The countryside in question was a forest resembling the ones at his house – they were still definitely not in England, probably Scotland or something or maybe the Republic of Ireland because of course _she _would want to mess with England and would love to see him humiliated like this – and it was raining. As usual.

And so the entire contingent of nations had all piled into the buses parked outside school and headed off on what was billed as an epic adventure for all involved. As many of them had participated in actual adventures before this none of them were very excited, least of all England. He had a sinking feeling about the whole venture, like it was going to end up as boring as a meeting only worse because he had no reason to be in charge.

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland had always trusted his hunches, and as usual this hunch was right.

* * *

The first game had left England standing in the middle of a wood with a blindfold covering his eyes, having been told to find his way to the end of the course with only a thin rope and a perverted Frenchman with straying hands to guide him.

"France!" England yelled as he once again fell flat on his face, "I have no doubt that you will again blame this on the root over which I have just tripped but could you _please _accept responsibility and realise that you are the one who is meant to be _stopping _me from tripping, that this is a _team-building _exercise designed to help _co-operation_ and it would be _really _nice if you could do your bloody job!"

"Oh, _Angleterre, _I am so very sorry about all this, it is just that I am finding it hard to see the roots too; it is very unfortunate that you keep tripping and I assure that I am in no way deriving any sort of personal pleasure from this at all, but really it's not my fault at all and there isn't anything I can do stop you from falling flat on your face in such a humiliating and undignified manner."

"Oh shut the fuck up, frog! You're doing it on purpose, I know it."

"..._Oui,_" England could hear the shrug in France's voice, "I'm doing it on purpose. I've also borrowed America's phone with which to document the entire event."

"Stop talking like that, I know you're only doing this to piss me off."

"Can you really blame me? It's such easy entertainment, _mon ami_."

"It shouldn't be, you're just a – get your dirty hands away from there!"

"Away from where?" France asked innocently, "I was helping you up!"

"Your filthy groping hands anywhere near...near _there _is not helping me get up, you sick pervert!"

"I was actually trying to help you up."

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was."

"Yeah, England, he was helping you up!" Prussia yelled from behind them. England whirled around, fists balled.

"Shut up, wanker!"

"Yes, Prussia, as England says, _shut up_," Austria sniffed, "This ordeal is unpleasant enough as it is without you lowering the quality of every conversation that takes place."

"Like you can talk, Specs, I'm surprised I can hear you from how far you down the hill you are."

Austria sighed dramatically, "Prussia, how many times have I told you that it is hardly my fault if everybody at my house walks slowly?"

"So many I've forgotten, but I suppose it is hardly surprising that snobby aristocrats just dawdle along, kind of like empires..."

"SHUT UP PRUSSIA!"

"Okay!" said the group leader hurriedly, "Maybe we should try something else!"

England thought that was a wonderful idea.

* * *

Swinging fifty feet in the air from a rope attached to a harness that really _itched_, he was less inclined to agree. He glared up at France, daring the frog to do anything except help him.

"Go on, frog. I dare you."

France sighed and stretched out a hand, reluctantly pulling England back onto the beams. They were meant to be trying to reach the top of a giant ladder, but the gaps between the rungs kept increasing in size and England was meant to be working with France_, _and Russia_, _and that massive oaf across the Atlantic.

"This is fun," Russia smiled, "_Da_?"

England fought a subconscious shiver as the creepy grin spread across Russia's face. Why did he, of all people, have to smile? It wasn't as though England cared particularly who did or didn't wear an expression of happiness, but as far as Russia was concerned he did, and from France's slight squeak he knew that he wasn't the only one.

"I hate to ask this, _mon ami, _but could you, ah, not do that?" France said, grimacing.

"Do what?" Russia asked.

"Eh, smile? It would be most kind if you were to not."

Russia frowned, "But we are friends, _da? _And people smile when they are among friends."

"We're friends?" America grinned, "That's totally cool, man!"

Russia turned around, ever so slowly, still smiling that smile – you know, the smile that wasn't creepy at all. America gulped.

"AAAAH!" he yelled, "I WANT TO SCREAM SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE YOU LESS SCARY ABOUT I CAN'T REMEMBER WHICH ONE IS THE SAFE WORD!"

"I'll give you a hint, it's not Perestroika," England muttered, and then gulped as Russia turned to him.

In the ensuing ruckus, a small voice, possibly belonging to yet another group leader who was really starting to consider his other job prospects – of which there were realistically none – could be heard to say, "Maybe we should move on to capture the flag?"

* * *

Though it had seemed like a good idea at the time, it soon transpired that capture the flag was definitely not a good idea, especially as this group leader's version of capture the flag involved laser guns and elaborate wooden structures deep in the forest. He had been informed that America and Russia were not to be on the same team each other, and given the anarchy that was caused by his attempt to organise teams himself, left the 'kids' to their own devices. The ones that had no friends – and these might also be the ones who had once been in charge of very large empires – were then tacked onto the end of another group.

It ended up with several different factions, each of which was then sent off to the side to choose a team name and a strategy. Team Viking was doing particularly well until they were required to agree on something.

"We need to have a strong front on both defence and offense," Norway said, "Denmark, you'll be ridiculous at anything except hitting people, so you'll go on the offensive. Sweden and Finland, you guys work well together, and you're both fairly reliable, so you'll be defending our flag. Iceland, you can go find their flags, then go tell Denmark and he'll go and actually get the thing. I'll be picking off the enemy as a sniper."

Denmark laughed, "That's such a stupid idea, Norge, we should just go and attack them!"

"Th't's a stup'd idea, Denm'rk."

"It is not, Sve! Stop being so annoying!"

"Guys," said Finland, "I think we should stop arguing, Norway has a good point..."

"Oh come on, Finny, don't you think my idea is awesome?" Denmark whined.

"No," said Sweden, "He likes my idea."

Finland squeaked. Norway sighed.

"I don't understand what's wrong with my idea, it's perfectly reasonable _and _the most logical _and_ the one that will give us the best tactical advantage."

Iceland shrugged.

"We could just all go attack England again."

"Yeah, that's probably the best idea we're going to get," Denmark agreed. And so the five former Vikings shoved their flag in a bush, hefted their laser guns, and set off to find England.

They found him leaning against a tree in which was stuck a red flag, evidently having been relegated to guard duty. The expression of boredom on his face was one that most of the Nordics empathised with, recognising it as their own feelings during hours of being yelled at by Germany for not paying attention; on the whole, as their group included Norway and Sweden, their facial expressions did not change all that much.

"Shush," Norway hissed, putting a finger to his lips and making a series of complicated hand gestures that were understood by exactly none of his friends. Instead, they began to surround the tree, "Three," Norway whispered, "Two, one..."

The former Vikings sprang on England, who yelled and tried to jump up. Denmark grinned, emptying his virtual ammunition into England's head.

"Bow down to the Norsemen, England," Norway said, face twisting into something that was almost a smile.

"Not you as well!" England moaned, "Look, I've had a really awful day and if you lot could just fuck off I would be really very grateful."

"You know, you're part Viking," Norway said casually.

"I am not!"

"Yes you are," Iceland added, "Remember when you were just a weensy little Norman colony?"

"WHAT? I WAS NOT A FUCKING NORMAN COLONY!"

"You basically were," Norway pointed out, "But anyway. So you know those pesky Normans? They weren't actually French."

"I know they weren't French! They were fucking Norman! From fucking Normandy!"

"Where else would they be from, Agincourt?" England winced, but Norway ploughed on regardless, "You see France, being the slightly spineless guy that he is, decided that when we wouldn't stop all the pillaging on his shores, he'd give us some land. So all these Norsemen came over and settled in Normandy."

"Norsemen – Norman?" Denmark grinned, "It's sort of in the name."

"And when William the Conqueror – great guy, by the way – came over and took over you, you basically became a Viking colony," Norway continued.

"Bastard," England muttered, "And besides, the concept of colonies didn't even exist back then!"

"Now now England, just because William's parents weren't actually married doesn't mean you can take it out on him."

"Shut up Denmark!" England yelled, "Stop rubbing it in my face, and I am not a fucking Viking."

"Seal'nd th'nks he's a Vik'ng," Sweden said nonchalantly.

"I fucking hate Vikings," England muttered as Denmark ran off with his flag.

"It's okay," the Viking yelled back in the midst of his victory dance, "We hate you too!"

* * *

_Hehe, because England had no friends. Also, his boss is David Cameron. That must suck. In other news; 50 followers! Uber yay! It might not seem like much, but I am très heureuse right now. Eh this chapter was kinda of crappy but I'm glad I got it up before getting back to school. Which is on Monday. Helppp. Yeah, England isn't reeeeally a Viking, or a Norman colony, but it's funny to use it as teasing ammunition. William the Conqueror was a bastard in the technical sense of the word, though. The nightline was meant to have more in it but I couldn't be bothered. In other news, I have finally seen all of Beautiful World! Yay! Still not the specials like the Centennial Gift or Buon San Valentino which is really annoying. _

_**Note: **__I realised I accidentally called Liechtenstein Lili in one of the last chapters, rather than Erika, the name I prefer, so I am going to go through and change it. I'll also remove any use of Iggy, Doitsu, Su-san etc. because they're too hard to keep track of and they're not in the nation's actual language. Norge and Sve get to stay because they make sense – I have been reliably informed by Swedish cousins that Danish is like Swedish spoken through a mouthful of porridge._


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